I took a long hitch-hike, but a nice Afghan lady with a French car, driving from Norway took me all the way and made it so easy. Once I got to the city, rain was pouring down. I got by the huge convention centre in Hamburg and could not even see the dark side of the moon in the misty rain.
You with your hands pouncing on the familiar instrument... and him up in the front, gliding down the chords. And there was someone else on the stage that day. A guy (his name was actually "Guy") that married your daughter. The guy I had 4 beers with last summer in Istanbul, late late night... Before taking him to the airport 3 hours later. A guy who showed me the picture of your grandchild in his mobile phone. He smiled then. Huge smile. He said he really, really liked you, the grandfather of his child.
And also the other man, the one at the front of the stage, now making his guitar cry in the 2nd minute into the solo making our brains all so comfortably numb... He also said "you always were brilliant".
Last days of this summer, 40 years after you wrote and sang Summer '68, the song I listened to when I sweated under the spring sun of Aarhus, biking up the hill to the University... You left here.
I just passed over the river and the skies looked incredibly clear and beautiful. The evening lights set over the St. Paul's, and reflected from the National Theatre in various shades of reds and greens.
But you gave us the blues now... Like once you did when you took us to the great gigs in the sky...
The blues, the colour, once, of your fading eyes.
Two months ago I took this picture. Today, after two months, for the first time I walked by this landscape, and it reminded me of you... You said you had to leave this morning... May your soul wander around and illuminate hereabouts Rick Wright.
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